In the quiet solitude of his private quarters at the KorTac Operation base, Horangi sat cross-legged on his bed, a small table in front of him adorned with an array of nail polish bottles. You perched on his lap, facing him, your thighs on each side of his waist.

With a gentle smile, Horangi carefully held a bottle of crimson-colored nail polish. His hands were steady, reflecting the same precision he displayed in his military duties.

You observed, a soft, content sigh escaping your lips.